As I went down by Carnalee,
I heard one singing on the sea,
Singing sweetly terribly,
The song of drowned men.

The moon bent down from heav'n to hear,
The seas drew up, the stars drew near.
Oh, many a night shall round the year
Ere such be seen again.

As I went down by Carnalee,
I saw one sitting on the sea,
White she was as the white thorn-tree
And her hair a fiery crown.

Nor hosen nor hood she happed her in,
Nor linen smock she wrapped her in,
But the cold sea-wave she lapped her in
And the green weed streaming down.

Lying sleepless in the stead, 
I could hear the ocean tread,
Trampling, down the bleaching bed
Of the happy men that drown

With never a shroud to hap them in
Nor kirk-yard mould to wrap them in,
But her long white arms to lap them in,
And the sea to roll them down.